


Isolation

by Athelska



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Captive, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Isolation, Mental Breakdown, Solitary Confinement, Starvation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:00:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athelska/pseuds/Athelska
Summary: Mulder finds himself imprisoned by unknown forces.  He slowly wastes away in total isolation losing hope day by day.  Meanwhile, unknown to him, Scully is also captive, forced to witness his slow torture, helpless to do anything for the man she loves.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> This story is inspired by my quarantine experience, and my favorite partnership -- Mulder and Scully.
> 
> Also, I shamelessly stole the first line from Hamilton... :)

He’d imagined death so much it felt like a memory. He welcomed it. Day and night bled together. His mind had grown muddled and slow. His body had withered through lack of use. All the fire and fight of the early days was gone. He just lay on the cot waiting for the death that slowly crept closer. 

He didn’t even roll over at the sound of the grate sliding open and the tray of food being pushed through the slot in the door. This event was all that marked the passage of each day. He hadn’t kept exact count after the first three weeks, but by now it must have been months. 

At first he’d waited with tense alertness, preparing for the confrontation, but it never came. They had never come. At first, he’d worked to maintain his strength. Sit ups, pushups, running in place. The shackle and chain around his neck didn’t slow him down much. After a while he didn’t even notice the weight of the chain dragging behind him, the tinkling sound of the metal actually cheered him somehow. 

He’d watched his beard come in and his hair grow shaggy in the black glass on one wall of his cell. This wall was no doubt a two way mirror. It was the one thing in his prison he could not touch. No matter how he strained, or stretched himself, the glass remained two feet beyond the reach of the chain. If someone or something was watching him, he saw only his own reflection. He’d taunted, yelled, cursed. Nothing, no one. He could not penetrate the dark glass to find another, his own self was all he could know in the always bright concrete room. So he’d spent days sitting cross legged on the floor, staring into the mirror wall, watching the man he knew melt away. 

He used to hum to break the maddening silence of the room, but he had long ago lost the heart for songs. He had played games in his mind to pass the time and escape the boredom, but weeks ago now he had exhausted even the depths of his imagination. Even his visions of Scully, the most vivid of all his fantasies faded. Sleeping and waking were both draped in the emptiness of his isolation. His existence just dragged forward without cause or meaning. 

Mulder didn’t recognize the hollow eyes or pale, sunken cheeks of the bearded man that stared back at him from the mirror wall. The room was familiar – stainless steel toilet and sink, metal bed bolted to the smooth concrete floor, white sheets to match his white scrubs, steel door which had never opened, metal tray that was renewed every morning by unseen hands. All of these objects had become more recognizable to Mulder than his own face. 

Three days ago, he had made a decision. For the first time in weeks, he felt some power over his life. He had decided not to eat. He drank some water from the sink that day, but had not touched the tray. The next morning, the tray had been replaced with a fresh one, and he decided that he wouldn’t eat or drink anything. This was the third day now, he didn’t feel the hunger or thirst anymore. He just lay on the cot, his back to the stranger in the mirror, waiting for the end to finally come.

*****

She watched him from the soft dim room beyond the glass. Her only light was what filtered through the mirror. It was like watching his tortured life on a wall to wall TV. She ached for him as she saw the little ways he was fading day by day. 

Scully’s room was identical to his except the dimness, and the soft rug, and the desk and chairs in one corner. And of course, the mirror was a window into her partner’s solitary prison. She had spent days staring back into his eyes as he saw only himself in the reflection. 

Every day when the woman entered, Scully pleaded for Mulder. She begged to speak with him, to send a message, to give him some hope, to restore his courage to go on. These pleas had been ignored. Instead, the woman sat at the desk, observing both of them, taking notes, asking Scully questions about her life, her childhood, her partnership with Mulder. Sometimes, Scully spoke with her, sometimes she just sat cross legged on the rug watching her partner.

The cruelty of his isolation, and her helplessness to comfort him, drove her to edge of sanity more than once. His voice reached deep into her soul as it filtered through the speakers in the ceiling of her cell. She heard in his voice the anger, then fear, then hopelessness as the weeks wore on. Many times from his sleep, he’d called her name. Those hoarse whispers from his troubled sleep were like knives to her heart. At least in his dreams, they were together.

The collar and chain on her neck was the same as Mulder’s. She couldn’t reach the window because of how the chain was bolted to the floor. How she longed to tap out a message against that glass. To spell his name in Morse code, to say “I love you” through the wall. That was her dream, that she broke free of that chain and walked to the window only to have it shatter and dissolve at her touch. Then she would step into the brightness of his cell and melt into his arms. That was all she needed.

He couldn’t hear her, but still, when she was alone, she spoke to him. Encouraged him. Told him of her love for him, of her hope that somehow she would be in his arms, of her need for him to fight all the darkness she saw overtaking his mind as the weeks turned to months. She missed his humming. She watched him withdraw into himself, she worried for him, she begged her captor for mercy on his behalf.

Besides being visited daily by the woman who studied them, Scully was escorted outside into a courtyard for walks and fresh air each afternoon. She had access to a shower every three days. The woman brought her books sometimes. Scully read these out loud to Mulder. She hated that she had this stimulation that he needed so desperately. Not only that, but her food was better than his. She hated to see him grow thinner and thinner each passing week while she passed the captivity in relative comfort.

The irony of it was that if Mulder had known, he would have chosen to waste away alone every time if it meant Scully was well fed and did not suffer the torment of total isolation. He wouldn’t have hesitated to take the torture to spare her. If only he could see that choice, he would feel the pride and purpose that had abandoned him. Scully knew, however, that in Mulder’s mind, he was utterly alone. His suffering had no purpose but to destroy him. He imagined her safe, working, demanding Skinner do more to find him, snuggled on the couch in her apartment. She knew because at points in the past, he’d spoken of such comforts to the mirror. He’d looked into her eyes, and thanked God that she would never see him like this. But now, he was silent, empty. 

She sensed the turn in him toward death. She knew within minutes once he’d decided to speed its coming. 

He had sat up with a light in his eyes she hadn’t seen for some time. At first she felt joy wash over her. What had his brilliant brain brought to him that gave him new courage? Then, an instant later, she felt it. He’d decided to stop fighting. He smiled for the first time in months, and the tears washed down her face.

She didn’t blame him. She wondered if she could have held out as long as he had. 127 days deprived of all human contact. 127 days of gnawing hunger. 127 days of silence. 127 days of watching who you are slowly fade away in a floor to ceiling mirror. She understood. It killed her to see him giving up, but of course she understood. 

She had witnessed it all. Now she would witness the end of it all.

It had been three days since he’d eaten last. The second day, when he didn’t drink, she knew the end would come soon. She’d begged and bargained for his life relentlessly. She also refused to eat or drink, she would not be moved from in front of the window as she watched her partner weaken. Her fast did not pose the life and death danger of Mulder’s. She had been well fed while he’d survived half-starved more than four months already. The third day, he hadn’t even lifted his head when the food tray was pushed into his cell. She wondered if he even had the strength to reach it if he’d wanted. But she knew he wouldn’t want to change his mind.

When the woman entered, she seemed more tense that Scully had ever seen. She stood next to Scully in silence, just watching Mulder for a while. She set a water bottle and orange on the floor next to Scully's knee. Scully ignored it. 

“You aren’t helping him by starving yourself,” the woman said, though her voice was not unsympathetic. “We can force you to eat.”

“Force _him_ to eat,” Scully said without looking up, like she dared this woman to intervene on his behalf. “Why are you doing this? Why are you killing him?” she added hopelessly.

“Well…it’s unfortunate that…,” the woman patted Scully’s shoulder tenderly, sighed, and then retreated to her usual spot behind the desk without finishing her thought.

Scully whirled around. She was up, leaning in front of the desk. The woman tried to avoid her eyes. “Let me help him if you won’t. I can get him to eat. Just let me talk to him.” There was desperation, and eagerness in Scully’s voice.

“I don’t think…” The woman was obviously uncomfortable with Scully’s proximity, and the burning passion in her eyes. Was it anger or love, or both? This little woman was a force in the dimly lit room. And suddenly, doubt arose as to who was in control of who.

“Please, let me talk to him. Even for just one hour. I can help him.” Her icy blue eyes blazed. “If you don’t let me go to him, you are killing him! Who will you study then?” The last question came out brittle with hatred. “If you let him die, I will kill myself before the day is over.” She swore it as a solemn oath before returning to her station by the window. 

Scully had begged for him a million times before, but his life had never been so very near the edge. She felt emboldened by the agony of losing him that had gripped her these past days. Her logical mind recognized that it was probably hopeless to ask mercy from these monsters, but as long as his thin shoulders moved with breath, she couldn’t give up on him.

*****

He was barely conscious. His senses were dull. He imagined the door opening. Death was coming for him. How strange to feel comforted by its presence? There was something so familiar in the spirit that was nearing him.

With all his effort he opened his eyes. Of course…Scully. Death knelt beside him, shrouded in the image of his partner, the woman whose life was the best part of his. He smiled at the blue eyes. “Thank you,” his voice was so small, a dry whisper. Death reached a lily white hand to his face, it called his name in her voice. 

He wasn’t afraid. How could he be…he had been waiting months for release, for relief. But he’d never imagined Death would come so sweetly and tenderly in the shape of his love. Tears of joy slipped from his eyes. 

She was crying too. Odd that Death would weep for him. Death’s hands caressed him, lifted his head, placed a cup of water to his lips. He didn’t fight her, but why? Vague confusion stirred him to sharper focus.

“Mulder,” she said through tears. “Mulder, you have to swallow. Please, you have to drink.” 

He obeyed. He took three small sips from the cup. She lowered it.

“Scully?” his unused voice was weak. She brought a spoon to his lips and tipped it into his mouth. The warm broth flowed down his throat. 

“Scully?” he asked again as she brought another spoonful to his mouth. He swallowed. “What are you doing here? What’s happening? Is it real?” There was a light of recognition growing in his dull eyes. 

Tears flowed freely down her face. She couldn’t speak, she just pulled his frail body to her, cradling his head against her chest. They were both overwhelmed. He heard her heart beating; he felt the rise and fall of her chest. The grip of her arms around him. How he’d ached for her! Imagined the sensation of her skin against his! 

But now… even as relief washed through him, he felt crushing anxiety. Why was she here? What was happening? This was too tangible to be a hallucination, so she was here. His muddled mind struggled for comprehension.

He reached his arms around her waist to return the embrace. He felt the texture and cut of the cotton scrubs that matched his own. He used all his strength to push himself to a half sitting position. She loosened her grip, but did not let him go. He reached up to the steel collar on her slender neck. 

“No…” his voice broke. “No, Scully…” he trembled as he collapsed back into her arms. 

“Mulder, Mulder…” she soothed him. Her hands stroked his beard and smoothed his shaggy hair as he cried. He gripped her hand and brought it to his lips. Sobs continued to shake his thin body.

Eventually he stilled, she continued to bring the broth to his lips in spoonfuls. He didn’t question her, he just drank. She lifted him up to sitting and helped him drink mouthfuls directly from the bowl. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He was in awe of her face. 

“Tell me.” The sound of his own voice felt strange to him as he spoke. She lifted the cup to his lips and he drank the last of the water. “Scully, tell me everything.”

She looked into his eyes searching for words. He had strengthened just with one bowl of enriched broth and a cup of water. She was pleased to see the light in his eyes return. He was so weak, but he was not on the very edge of death anymore. 

What surprised her most was his mind. Despite all he had suffered, he seemed himself. Once he’d recognized her and seen she was real, he’d began to put pieces together. Her heart had shattered when he touched the collar around her neck. She saw the pain in him that she was here. His grief as he imagined what she’d been through. She didn’t know how to explain her life beyond the mirror, how to help him through the shock of it all.

“Mulder, I’ve been here the whole time.” She pointed to the mirror. “My cell is there.” The sorrow in her was palpable with each word.

He just listened, trying to make sense of what she said. 

“Mulder, I’m so sorry you’ve been alone. I…” she couldn’t continue.

“The whole time?” he asked. “You were just there?” He couldn’t fully absorb this revelation. His whole reality was transformed, shattered, reshaped.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, burying her face in the blankets of his cot.

His companion, his true partner had been 10 feet away from him the whole time he’d languished for human contact. It was as if the months of his slow torture had been a dream, and reality was crashing back to him. His mind raced, fueled by a flood of adrenaline. He felt hope welling up in him for the first time in his memory. 

He stroked her hair, gently, absorbing her grief. “But you’re okay?” It was like he was reassuring himself. He lifted her chin, his own eyes wet with tears. “I never thought I’d see you again…I’m so sorry you are here with me…but you are here with me…” The tears spilled over down his face, she crawled up next to him on the bed. They held each other. 

“I couldn’t let you die, I’m sorry, Mulder, I’m sorry, I should have come sooner, they wouldn’t let me, I just...I just couldn’t let you die thinking you were alone, I love you, Mulder, so much, I love you, I couldn’t go on without you, Mulder, I couldn’t watch you die, I love you…” the words gushed out of Scully through sobs and tears as she held him.

“Scully, slow down. I…” he gave a helpless little shrug. “I’m not going to die, not when you just got here.”

She started laughing. His face still read shock and surprise, but the boyish smile she loved so much bloomed on his lips. He ran a tendril of her hair through his fingers. 

“You look good, Scully. You look so good to me.” His eyes had regained life, and sparkled in his gaunt face. “I look mostly dead, I bet…I would have cleaned up if I’d known you were coming.” 

She kissed his cheek. “Mulder, you do look…” She kissed his mouth. “…mostly dead…” She kissed his neck. “…but to me…” She kissed his collar bone. “…you still look good.”

He lifted her face back to his. He kissed her deeply. 

She saw his strength was waning. “Mulder, sleep. Rest.” He nodded as she wrapped the blanket around him. She sat on the edge of the cot stroking his face. He was fighting sleep, blinking against the fatigue, unwilling to take his eyes off her. She leaned down, kissed his forehead. “Mulder, I’m here. You aren’t alone anymore. Sleep.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if this is the end or if I want to add on to it. Let me know what you think.


End file.
